


Sincerely, Your Mom!

by trashmovthtoziers



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Cold Weather, Coming of Age, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Mentioned Pennywise (IT), One Shot, Reddie, Repressed Memories, Short & Sweet, Sick Character, Sleepy Boys, Soft Richie Tozier, sad at times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 00:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15012917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashmovthtoziers/pseuds/trashmovthtoziers
Summary: Thoughts of It resurface, prompting the unsuspected arrival of Richie Tozier, who, from the looks of it, doesn't know how to dress in the harsh Maine winters.





	Sincerely, Your Mom!

_ON. OFF._

As a lone streetlight flickered somewhere off in the distance, filtered beams danced across his windowsill and eerie shadows lurked in even the darkest corners of his bedroom. With each time the streetlight switched off, the shadows dissolved into nothingness, filling the room with complete darkness — a darkness cold and cruel and unforgiving. With each time it switched back on, the shadows grew and stretched and crawled the walls of his pale-blue bedroom like some fetid-smelling cluster of tarantulas, swollen with their recent buffet of insects, scaling the walls of his bedroom to return to their nests of which had been built in the small, dank crevices between the walls and the ceiling.

Eddie shuddered.

_ON. OFF.  
_

He burrowed himself further under the covers, head and all.

_OFF. ON. OFF. ON. OFF._

Then, he heard them — screams; cries; pleads for mercy. All much too loud in his head for him to be able to discern what it all meant. In an ill-considered delirium, he willed them all to leave him alone, but to no avail. His throat had shrunken down to the mere size of a pinhole, small and inadequate and hindering his breathing to something almost non-existent.

His breath whistled in and out.

Meanwhile, the once-indistinct voices had started to somewhat clear out to something more discernible. It felt as if the voices had been sifted through something within his brain, becoming clearer and clearer. He could now somewhat understand them.

Above all of the voices, he could hear Stan the clearest. He could hear Stan and his screams about leaving him alone — about how Eddie and the others had broken their resolute promise to not do so. He could hear Richie, too, and his frantic command of ‘LOOK AT ME!’ over the others. He could hear Mike scream, horrified as Bowers fell down the well and into the void. He could hear Ben scream for Bev to wake up as she floated with the other missing children. He was able to hear Bill tell his “little brother” down in the sewers the he missed him. He could hear Bev tell the Losers what she had seen in the deadlights.

He could hear It, too. He could hear It snarl as it held his face in its gloved hand, drooling onto him as it said ‘Tasty, tasty, beautiful fear’ and showed off its rows of millions of teeth.

He told himself that these screams, these words, were no longer relevant to his life, that they were from the past and should stay there, but he _couldn’t_ leave them there and he _couldn’t_ forget them — at least, not during the night. It was under the cover of dark that these memories were the most potent. It was then that he was the most vulnerable.

“EDDIE!” Eddie started at this new and sudden voice. “LET ME IN, I’M FREEZING MY ASS OFF!”

It had come from outside of his window and, recognizing the voice as he heard it so much and so often, he wanted to see what it wanted. He kicked off his sheets recklessly, immediately missing their warmth as he padded gently over to his bedroom window. He unlatched the window, which swung lazily outward. Immediately, he was hit with an overpowering blast of cold, biting air. He shivered involuntarily.

For some reason, the streetlight no longer flickered uncertainly between on and off. Instead, it shone brightly in the darkness, casting the snow-covered ground alight in its yellow beam.

Richie Tozier stood there underneath his window, and he looked an absolute mess.

In typical Eddie nature, the first thing that he observed about Richie was that he had no shoes on. He was barefoot in the cold and, as his mother constantly reminded him, this winter was the coldest one in almost 40 years. Hell, and to top it all off — to ice this fucking cake — it was _snowing_.

Richie had on maroon sweatpants, a blue t-shirt, and a thin, black-and-white coat, but he wore nothing else for the purpose of keeping warm. His coke-bottle glasses shone brightly in the minimal light, his dark curls frazzled almost comically at the ends. His nose and cheeks were unnaturally red.

Eddie looked irritated as he called down, “Where the hell are your shoes, dumbass? You’ll freeze out there! You have no idea how many diseases and sicknesses you can harbor from cold like this!”

Richie shuddered in the cold. He stuttered his words out, much like Bill would in normal circumstances, “I would fuh-freeze less soon if you’d let me in!”

Eddie took several seconds to observe his surroundings, looking for something so that Richie could slip through the window. He, however, found nothing. His window was far from anything useful, and climbing the siding on the house was surely out of the question. Suddenly, he was struck with realization, “Richie, are you listening?”

“Yeah!” He called back.

“I want you to stand on my front doorstep, all right? I’ll let you in from there.”  
  
“But what about your ma? Won’t she fuh-find out?”

“No, she won’t… Trust me on this one!”

As of late, his mother had had trouble sleeping. She had complained of such issues to her doctor, but each time he prescribed her medicine, it didn’t work. As a last resort (and because he was tired of her bitching about him prescribing her ‘faulty’ medicine), he prescribed her something comparable to general anesthesia. It would knock her out for around twelve hours each and every night. It was absolutely tranquilizing, but it allowed her sleep. She took it religiously.

Richie nodded and did as he was told without hesitation. Perhaps, this was fueled solely on his desperation for warmth, for his stubbornness usually outweighted his other occasions of compliance.

Eddie latched the window once more, momentarily revelling in the warmth of his own house. He then shoved his sock-clad feet into his slippers, took an extra blanket out of the hall closet, and padded softly down the stairs. He knew that his mother had taken the knockout sleeping medicine, he had seen her do so, but he made sure to be quiet in case, for some reason, it didn’t work this _one_ time. Before he unlocked the front door, he switched on the little lamp on the table beside it. With another blast of cold air, he was met with a blue-lipped, red-faced, absolutely miserable-looking Richie Tozier.

Eddie hastily handed him the blanket, his eyes comically wide. Richie took the soft blanket gratefully and with much appreciation, wrapping it around himself the second it was in his hands. After Richie stepped inside, Eddie closed the front door quickly, not wanting to let anymore cold air in.

Richie lowered his voice considerably, demanding in an uncertain whisper, “Why can I do this? If Mrs. K heard me—”

Still, Eddie spoke softly, “ _Mrs. K_ takes knockout sleeping medicine that’s basically what doctors use during surgery. It knocks her out for twelve hours each night. It’s been—” his gaze flickered briefly to the clock on the hearth, which read 2:19 am “—almost six hours.”

“What a shame… A night with me of bangin’ headboards and she won’t need sleeping medicine,” Richie smiled devilishly.

“You do realize that what you said could be taken a different way, Richie? It could be taken as _you’re so boring… it’s sleep-inducing_.”

“Whatever…” Richie said as he pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “I can’t even think ‘cuz I’m so cold.”

“I would make you hot chocolate or something, but I don’t have any,” Eddie admitted, scuffing his slippers distractedly on the hardwood. “I would also turn on the fireplace, but I can’t because Ma would skin me alive if I did such thing and some of her shit is in the way.”

“With all due respect, Eds, I would _love_ it if you’d do the things you _can_ do instead of bitch about the things you _can’t_ ,” Richie raised his eyebrows.

“Oh! Right, sorry!” Eddie felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He tried to hide his blush as he switched off the lamp, casting them into relative darkness, save for the little L.E.D. night-lights that were plugged into the outlets upstairs. His mother had bought those for when someone had to use the bathroom at night. “Come with me…” he said as he started to ascend the stairs, Richie at his heels, his teeth clattering faintly.

Eddie led him down the hallway, the night-lights his guide. He still tried his best to be silent as he passed his mother’s bedroom, but, from the loud, rumbling snoring that could be heard inside, he could tell that she was still asleep. Richie tried to turn the doorknob with a mischievous smirk, but Eddie swatted his hands away, mortified. When Richie started to chuckle, Eddie glared at him scornfully, eyes narrowed into thin slits. Richie swallowed his remaining laughter, adjusting the blanket on his shoulders.

Eddie closed his bedroom door behind Richie. He motioned wordlessy that Richie could sit down on his bed, so Richie did so respectfully.

As Eddie scoured the closet for something warm, Richie talked passionately about his distaste for the new P.E. teacher and about how she had ‘went off’ on Ben last week for no apparent reason. Eddie barely listened to what he was saying, more focused on finding something useful and warm. He eventually found some socks, his ski coat (he had never been skiing in his entire life, but his mother had gotten him the coat for the harsh Maine winter), and another, much thicker blanket.

Eddie handed them each to Richie, who had finally finished his rant, leaving him somewhat breathless.  Richie then leaned over and slid the socks onto his feet, shoved his arms into the ski coat, and bundled himself in the blanket. He made himself comfortable in his new warmth, leaning back easily against the pillows on Eddie’s bed.

It didn’t both Eddie too much. After a moment, he asked the question that he was _dying_ to ask, “What were doing you outside with barely anything on? Did something happen?”

“I underestimated the cold,” Richie said offhandedly.

Eddie looked at him doubtfully, “It was _snowing_ …”

Richie pursed his lips uncertainty, perhaps nervously, but confessed anyway, “I wanted to get out my house. I kept _remembering_ things, seeing things, from last summer and I felt like I was being watched while I was home alone and it… wasn’t the best feeling.”

“I was remembering, too — before you came,” Eddie admitted. He walked around the side of the bed, took off his slippers, and positioned himself beside Richie. “Sometimes, I wish it never happened at all.”

“Me too, but then I remember that it brought us closer. Bowers connected us with Ben and Bev and Mike, but It… _It_ brought us all together. Before them, we were nothing but four misfits. Trashmouth, Wheezy, Stuttering Bill, and The Jew. Now, we’re losers. It’s _quite_ the upgrade, I’d say.”

“Do you ever think we’ll forget entirely what happened?” Eddie asked, interested to hear what Richie thought of it. He looked over at Richie keenly. “That our nightmares will stop?”

“Now, I’m no therapist, but I think that what happened changed our lives and is pretty impossible to forget,” Richie said truthfully as he locked eyes with Eddie.

“I think the same. The details will fade, but what we saw… that won’t. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that homeless man — that leper.”

Richie nodded solemnly.

Eddie wondered distantly what Richie had seen before he had come to his house — what he had remembered from last summer. Did he hear the voices like Eddie did? Did he hear the screams? It couldn’t have been a coincidence that they both heard something It-related on the same night, right? It would have to do with It not being dead — with It still haunting them.

Eddie decided that he had to know, so he asked, “Do you ever think that… maybe we didn’t kill It? That It isn’t really dead?”

Richie took a moment to mull over this. _Could_ It be dead? Could him remembering things — seeing things — mean that It never died? Or was it his brain playing tricks on him? Was it PTSD or something? Was it only him remembering what happened down in the sewers?

Richie answered, his voice firm, “I think… that we killed It. We saw It fall down the well in the sewers—”

“But the _well in the sewers_ , Richie. That makes no sense. We already went down the well inside of Neibolt. There couldn’t have been another one. At least, _that_ one couldn’t have been an actual well.”

“Then… it was a _drain_ or something,” Richie had started to piece things together, albeit slowly. “There would’ve been water at the bottom. It… well, It could’ve fallen into it and survived.”

Eddie nodded.

“But the missing kids floated back down… that’s gotta be relevant to something — symbolize something. The kids _could_ symbolize that we defeated It.”

“All I know is that we both heard It tonight…”

“And what if the others did, too?” Richie wondered aloud, and received no answer. After several moments, he sighed loudly, “This is _way_ too much thinking for almost three in the morning.”

Once more, Eddie nodded his concordance. His head had started to hurt, but he hadn’t mentioned it.

But then, all of a sudden, Richie sniffled wetly. In the silence, he had started to sob quietly. His hand had shot to his mouth, somewhat muffling his cries. His eyes were closed tightly.

“Richie?” Eddie asked softly. Internally, however, he was panicking — Richie _rarely_ cried. In fact, Eddie was almost positive that he had seen Richie cry only twice in his entire eight years of knowing him. The first time had been when he was seven and had fallen off his bicycle and down into a ravine, breaking three ribs in the process. The second time had been down in the sewers when Stan had called them out for leaving him alone. And now, the third time.

Richie lowered his hands from his mouth, his cries were not stifled anymore. Then, he confessed, “I-I came over here because I didn’t want to be alone, Eds… When I’m alone, I remember things too clearly. I can see myself back in that room inside of That Crackhead House, the one with all the clown dolls. I can hear us all scream for Stan and I can see the flute-lady with her mouth on his face. I can hear Stan scream at us about how we left him alone and I feel… I feel so guilty that we let all of that happen. It’s like… _that’s_ when I’m the most vulnerable — when I’m alone.”

“Hey…” Eddie said tenderly. He reached over and took Richie’s much colder hand into his own, perhaps because he had always been best at showing comfort through touch. He had trouble with words, unlike Richie. “What happened to Stan was _not_ because of you. It was _not_ because of us. _It_ was the one that hurt Stan, not you.”

“I know ‘what ifs’ get you nowhere, but what if we were too late? Stan would be dead, Eddie! He would’ve been floating with the other missing kids…” He sniffled once more, swallowing thickly.

“Stan is _fine_ , and so are we all. We made it out alive.”

Richie nodded his head, “But in twenty-seven years, like Ben and Bill said, and if it even _takes_ that long, what if we don’t make it out alive? What’ll happen? Will It keep killing kids?”

“I dunno…” Eddie said truthfully, barely above a whisper.

“You know, Eds… The scariest memory I have from last summer — the one that I see the most — is from That Crackhead House. It was when you broke your arm. We all thought we were gonna die.” He gnawed and picked at his chapped lips. Eddie watched him do this, twitching slightly with germaphobic instinct. He found it somewhere in himself to simply ignore it.

“I don’t remember much of it. I think I was in shock. I _do_ remember, though, you and Bill bursting through the door. You both looked like about to shit your pants, you were so scared.”

“It was pretty traumatizing…” Richie said. Then, his voice rose to that tone where Eddie knew a brainless joke was imminent. “It was almost as traumatizing as that one Halloween where we found Mrs. K’s—”

“We promised not to speak of that!” Eddie flushed beet-red. Beyond irritated, he wrenched his hand out of Richie’s.

Richie smiled easily, “ _Bill and Stan_ agreed, but I didn’t.” He straightened his glasses, blinking owlishly — slowly. He was obviously exhausted.

Eddie sighed heavily, freeing himself of his previous vexation. He simply didn’t have the energy to be angry at Richie, seeing as, according to his wrist watch, it was almost three in the morning. “You don’t have to wear that ski coat to bed…” he said at length. “I mean, you can if you’re still cold, but it’s so slick that it’s uncomfortable.”

“Sleeping with my Ed—?”

“—I _knew_ that was coming…” Eddie rolled his eyes exasperatingly, sliding underneath the covers. “I was only _trying_ to show some hospitality.”

“And I’m thankful for this T.L.C. from my E.D.D.” Richie said tiredly as he slid his arms out of the ski coat, setting it on the floor beside the bed. He then took off the blankets around his shoulders, slid in beside Eddie, and laid the blankets out on top of the covers.

“Holy shit, that was bad!” Eddie raised his eyebrows, laughing slightly.

“I _was_ , wasn’t it, Ed With Two Ds? Ha… 2 Ds! Get it?”

“What are you? Nine?”

Richie half-assedly mimicked Eddie, raising his voice obnoxiously, “‘What are you? Nine?’

Eddie rolled his eyes in response.

After several moments of silence, Eddie spoke up, his voice tentative, “Richie, I… why did you come here? You could’ve gone to Stan’s house? To Bill’s? You live closer to both of them…”

“I don’t know, really. Like I said before, the memory that I see the most has to do with _you_ . Before Bill and I found you in the kitchen with It, when I was lured into the clown room. Well… It used _you_ to lure me into there. We’d been looking for you in the first place, and it took _form_ of you.” Richie’s words were jumbled precariously, and it was made obvious that he had never told anyone this.

“And, after Bill took me out of that room, we saw It take form of you _again_ . You, well, _It_ broke through this dirty mattress that was on the ground and It-It vomited this black stuff, and it came out of the mattress and chased me and Bill down the hallway.”

Richie continued after a moment, “I think that I feel safest with you…”

Eddie flushed crimson. His voice dropped to barely a whisper as he admitted, “I think I feel safest with you, too.”

Richie chose to admire Eddie then. He had always liked when Eddie blushed as he did now, with it spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. Eddie’s freckles on his nose stood out starkly in the pale, minimal light, his button-nose looking exceptionally _cute, cute, cute._

But then, all of a sudden, before Richie could stop himself, he blurted out, “Kiss me.” Immediately after realizing what he had said, his eyes went comically wide, his cheeks burning fiercely. He opened his mouth to apologize, but nothing came out.

“What?” Eddie asked, obviously surprised, his eyes as wide as saucers.  
  
Richie floundered helplessly for _anything_ to cover his tracks, “Uh… nevermind. I-I didn't mean to say that. In fact, I don’t really know _why_ I said that in the first place, it just kinda… you know—?”

Eddie cut him off promptly as he slammed his lips squarely onto Richie's. Richie made a sound of complete surprise, his eyelids fluttering closed. With their inexperienced mouths, it was rather sloppy and uncoordinated. It _had_ been their first kiss. When Richie moved his hand to Eddie's cheek, deepening the kiss considerably, Eddie smiled unconsciously. Truly, it was otherwordly amazing. 

Eddie pulled back eventually, but only because he was breathless. Richie stared at him, in awe. Eddie slid his thumb softly over Richie's lips, which would probably bruise, but, then again, so would his own.

“Holy shit…” was all Richie could say for the moment. 

Eddie smiled and, after a few moments of stunned silence, so did Richie.

 


End file.
